


Through The Window

by masquerad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Domestic Fluff, Draco is on house arrest, Fluff, Happy end of potterweek please read this, Harry romances him from below his bedroom window/from his back yard/from next door, He's not really an old lady it's an analogy or something you'll see, I wrote this a while ago but I'm publishing it for Harry's birthday, M/M, Neighbours AU, New Year, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Not Epilogue Compliant, Old Bat Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Romance, fluff with plot, holiday fluff, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 13:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11669952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masquerad/pseuds/masquerad
Summary: (Alternatively titled: Harry Potter Is An Unattractive Git Who Needs To Mind His Own Business)Draco and his mother have been under house arrest for nearly a year, which was fine by him. He was perfectly content to sit in his bedroom reading the same books seven times over or watching people pass on the street from his window. Just as their house arrest is nearing an end, a certain speccy git moves in next door. He's short, he's aggravating, and he's definitely not attractive. At least, that's what Draco tells himself.





	Through The Window

**Author's Note:**

> Written awhile ago but published today in honour of Harry's birthday. Happy Potterweek! Also, this is dedicated to my bestie Jai, who I love with my whole heart but who does not have an AO3. You should probably hit them up [here](https://putting-the-d-in-drarry.tumblr.com) and definitely hit me up [here](quibblersandquidditch.tumblr.com). I love you for even clicking on this fic and I hope you enjoy it. <3

**August 1998**

Summer was, and always had been, Draco's least favourite season. It was blisteringly hot (by his standards, though Pansy claimed it was much hotter down in Africa where she spent her summers), and summertime at the manor was a dreadful bore. Playing with the peacocks lost its appeal when Draco was seven, and annoying them grew boring at twelve. There was only so much one could talk about with one's mother, or with elderly men in paintings, or with enchanted topiary plants. So once Draco had finished all of his books, his summer became as dull as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Which is to say, very, very dull.

That summer had been spent on house arrest with Mother. Their new residence in Upper Flagley— approved after a thorough tearing-apart by Aurors— was a medium sized house with a small front garden and two nicely shaped bushes beside the door. It was certainly a far cry from Malfoy Manor, and while Draco pretended to be irritated by the fact that he was made to leave his childhood home, he'd been secretly relieved by it. The old house had too many bad memories associated with it. He liked it better at the new place, where he watched Mother work in the garden or people passing on the street from the upstairs window.

Watching the people outside had become his new favourite activity. There was lots to see there, if you knew where to look. The girl who walked down the street in the evenings with a baby girl in a pram looked much like a younger Celestina Warbeck, and the man who dropped off the post every morning was about as old as Nicolas Flamel. It was boring, yes, but slightly less so than talking to a perverted bush shaped like a centaur, or gazing at the peacocks as they try to nip at one another's tails.

Occasionally Draco worried that perhaps he's become rather like an old woman— always watching from the window, nosing about in other people's business, lounging in the garden with a murder mystery novel. But then he thought that it hardly mattered, because house arrest was supposed to be about as interesting as finding a Knut on the sidewalk, and what else was there to do?

**September 5, 1998**

There were not many cars that drove by in Upper Flagley, for a few reasons. One, it was in the middle of nowhere, and two, most of the population was wizards who preferred to Floo into their houses and hardly made appearances on the street. So far, only seven cars were regulars, most of them peculiarly dome-shaped or rectangular, toting bundles of squealing children or bachelors in stuffy sweaters. At the sound of squealing brakes outside, which was definitely not a common sound in Upper Flagley, with all of the well-to-do families that lived on the street, Draco jumped up from his desk to look out the window. He shoved away the passing thought that he was definitely turning into a gossip-hungry old woman and went to the window, rubbing his head where he had hit it on the sloping ceiling.

The vehicle outside was far different from the ones Draco had seen before. It was large and white, with a boxish trailer pulled behind it. Two men got out of the front and walked around to the back to push open the door on the trailer, if that's what you'd call the great sliding monstrosity. It made a loud creak as it slid upward, and Draco wondered how two men could push something so large.

He watched out the window as they disappeared beyond the threshold of the little bungalow before Potter stepped back outside, Weasley not in sight. He'd probably cast a levitating charm where the Muggles couldn't see. He climbed inside the trailer again, and Draco couldn't see him because of the shadow, but he exited with what appeared to be a box containing a very small bedroom.

Draco's first thought was _Potter plays with dolls._ His second was _maybe he has a niece or a goddaughter?_ His third was _he's just shrunk all his furniture, obviously. You need to get more sleep._

Draco decided his third thought was the right one and shut the curtains. His days of obsessing over Saint Potter were over anyway. Or so he thought.

**September 12, 1998**

  
The leaves were already starting to turn brown by mid-September, which was fine by Draco, because it meant that the atrocious season (Summer) was over. Mother was mourning her flowers, which only bloomed in the summertime, and weren't allowed to be charmed with so many Muggles around. She sulked around the house, however discretely, since she hadn't taken to people-watching or reading like Draco had during their house arrest. She was rather lonely, and Draco didn't blame her, since he wasn't the best company.

The problem with Autumn arriving so quickly was that less people started going for walks. The chill in the air kept people in their houses, so the boys next door stopped practicing soccer in the street and the Celestina-esque mother didn't walk by with her pram in the evenings. Draco was starting to get bored of watching leaves fall on the empty road from his bedroom window and reorganising his already organised bedroom.

It was when he was beginning to contemplate buying a subscription to the _Quibbler_ for something to read that the dullness shifted. The doorbell rang.

Draco, clad in his pyjamas and assuming it was the postman, opened the door. He looked down (just slightly, the man wasn't as short as Draco would've liked to think) to see Potter standing on his doorstep, just as speccy and disheveled as he'd looked at age eleven.

" _Malfoy_?"

Draco had never heard Potter sound so surprised before, but he was rather shocked too. "Potter. What a surprise."

"Uh... yeah. Really. I didn't know you lived here."

"I've lived here since May." Draco still didn't know why Potter had come here in the first place, although really, it was such a Potter thing to do, greeting the new neighbours. Or, even more Potter-like- all of the other neighbours had come to greet him, and he'd come to force himself on the one household that hadn't. Yes, that was it. Bloody Potter, thinking he's so great that everybody deserves to meet him. Draco shook his head internally. Potter was so self-centred.

"Oh. Sure. Sorry about the Manor, I read about it in the Prophet."

Draco rolled his eyes. Golden Boy Potter, thinking everybody wanted his kindness and pity. Well, he was wrong. So wrong.

He'd intended to say something snarky, witty, to leave Potter a little speechless, but what came out instead was, "I think Mother misses it, but we like it here. We've made it home, really. Would you like to come in?"

Potter looked taken aback. Not the sort of taken aback Draco had planned, but it was close enough. A small victory.

"Er- no thanks. I'm just here because I got some of your post by accident." He held up the envelopes he had in his hand. Saint Potter wasn't such a saint after all, stealing other people's mail.

When Draco didn't respond, Potter said, "see, the two there looks a bit like a three, but the postal code was all wrong. I figure the postman just looked at the address and not the number on the box. I hope you weren't waiting on anything time sensitive."

"No, nothing like that. Thank you," Draco said, taking the two envelopes Potter handed to him.

"I wouldn't mind coming inside another time. I'm just late today. I've got to get to work. No hard feelings, yeah?"

Bloody Potter. Thinking everybody was offended by the slightest noise or refusal from him. _Self-centred bastard_ , Draco thought.

"Not a problem, Potter. Don't worry about it," Draco said.

"Alright. Sorry that I got your post. I'll tell the postman to check next time."

"Fine. Have a nice day, Potty."

"You too, Ferret."

Potter walked away, and Draco shut the door, equal parts flabbergasted and offended. _Ferret._ Potter had called him _ferret._ 'Potty' was wordplay, and clever wordplay at that. Ferret was personal. Draco scoffed at the closed door where Potter had been standing seconds ago, and stalked up to his room.

**September 27, 1998**

As it turned out, Potter's bedroom window was about four metres to the left of Draco's. The reason for this was that the two houses were built the exact same way, and they were only separated by a brick wall just tall enough that Potter probably couldn't see over it. Potter had chosen to occupy the attic bedroom instead of the master on the second floor, even though he was living alone. _Probably makes him feel taller_ , Draco thought, because Potter was basically a midget, wasn't he?

 

Draco wasn't stalking Potter, not really. It wasn't like he was actively _trying_ to find out where Potter slept, it was just that once he'd been leaning out the window and he chanced a glance to the right- not to look at Potter, obviously. Potter had a painfully average face with specs that are far too large, and maybe his eyes are nice, but that's not enough reason to look at him.

 

 

When Draco looked out the window, Potter was leaning out the window, too. Smoking. Disgusting.

 

 

"Potter, take that _cancer stick_ back inside your house and smoke it there. You're getting the smoke in my face." That was a lie. Draco hadn't known Potter was even there until he'd looked in the direction of his house.

 

 

Potter tapped some of the ash off on his windowsill. "Cancer stick? You afraid of some smoke, Malfoy?"

 

 

"Not afraid, you git. But it's a filthy habit, and I don't appreciate having smoke blown up my nose."

 

 

Potter grinned, just a split second expression before he took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out directly in the direction of Draco's face. It didn't actually reach him of course, the distance between the windows was too far, but the smell burned his nose and eyes. He glared, while simultaneously blinking his stinging eyes. Potter laughed.

 

 

"Sorry. I had to."

 

 

"You didn't, really."

 

 

"It was funny!"

 

 

"Sure it was. I'll get back at you soon."

 

 

"I'll look forward to it."

 

 

Draco rolled his eyes and ducked back inside his house. Looking forward to it, his arse. Potter would not be looking forward to it, and he shouldn't be, because Draco had been a Death Eater, and he knew lots of curses that could potentially burst Potter's eyeballs, or twist his legs around so his feet were facing the wrong way.

 

 

It crossed his mind that Potter might've been flirting, but that sounded stupid and possibly too good to be true. He shut the window with the loudest slam he could manage (not very loud,) and pulled the curtains shut. The golden boy would not be bothering him any more today.

 

 

**October 5, 1998**

 

 

Although their unbearably long house arrest had ended five days before, Draco had not yet gone outside of the house at number 2 Upper Flagley. He'd spent every day doing what he'd done all summer: window-watching, reading, grumbling. Potter had been out in his garden though, sitting on the step and petting a stray cat. The cat was rather cute, but it probably had a dormant scabies infection, and Draco hoped Potter caught it. The bloody Golden Boy wasn't allowed to be nearly fit enough to model _and_ have stray cats love him _and_ relentlessly tease Draco by blowing cigarette smoke in his general direction.

 

 

Potter was aggravatingly sweet with the cat, which Draco was beginning to suspect was a Kneazle, because it was far too smart for a regular cat. He went inside to get it a saucer of milk while the cat waited obediently on the doorstep, tail swishing against the ground.

 

 

Potter came back outside, leaning over to put the saucer down. He glanced up toward Draco's window, and upon seeing him, flashed his bloody Chosen One grin. The one that definitely did _not_ send Draco's heart fluttering like a hummingbird. Merlin. Draco needed to stop window watching. He forcefully pulled the curtains shut and turned around.

 

 

Mother was standing in the doorway. She was dressed up in a nice pair of robes, hair curled and pinned up tastefully. "Draco, love, you need to go outside. You're turning into an old bat. Come out for dinner with me."

 

 

"I'm busy, Mother. Reading, and such. Go without me."

 

 

"Well, do something. Go next door and see that boy you're in love with. The neighbours will think us odd if you keep hanging out the window like that."

 

 

Draco sputtered. "I'm not _in love_ with him. 'That boy' is Harry bloody Potter. He's aggravating. He's the one that got us put on house arrest to begin with."

 

 

That was also untrue. Draco was becoming an old bat _and_ a liar.

 

 

"Go for a walk then. But don't stay here."

 

 

"Fine, Mother. Have fun at dinner."

 

 

Narcissa kissed him on the cheek before she left, closing the door with a soft click.

 

 

Once his mother had gone, Draco went outside. In his hand, he brought out a little dish of milk. He set it on the front step, just like Potter had. If an average looking, thick headed Gryffindor arsehole with a hero complex could attract a stray cat, so could Draco. Then he sat and waited.

 

 

A speccy face appeared over the brick wall.

 

 

"Malfoy. Finally decided to come outside, did you?"

 

 

"Not for you, I didn't. Standing on a step stool, are you? You definitely can't see over this fence without one."

 

 

"Maybe. But what's it matter to you? Are you off house arrest?"

 

 

"Maybe. Not your business."

 

 

"Take that as a yes, then. Can I come sit with you or will you hex me?"

 

 

"I'll probably hex you. But you're welcome to sit, I guess."

 

 

"I'll take my chances."

 

 

Draco watched Potter scale the wall, hands gripping the top. Potter had big hands, with thick, stubborn fingers and knobbly knuckles. There were calluses on his palms. Worker's hands. He wondered if Potter had tended a garden as a child, or perhaps had just climbed a lot of walls. Draco decided on the latter.

 

 

Potter jumped down from the wall- which should've hurt his legs, it was a six foot drop and he was so bloody short -and sauntered over to sit beside Draco. The only way to describe it was _sauntering_ , because it was a smug sort of walk, and Draco wondered if giving Potter what he wanted by letting him come in his yard had been the greatest idea. He sat beside Draco on the step.

 

 

"Attracting the cat?" Potter asked, eyes trained on the saucer of milk.

 

 

"Maybe." Draco moved the saucer away from Potter, putting it in the grass. The milk splashed on his fingers and he brought them to his mouth to clean them off.

 

 

"What is it with you and the word 'maybe?'"

 

 

" _Maybe_ I don't want to disclose personal information to the creep next door."

 

 

"You're the one stalking me. And I'm not a creep if we're friends."

 

 

"I'm not stalking you. And we're not friends, Potter."

 

 

"Why not?"

 

 

"Because I'm not friends with creeps who blow smoke in my face and flirt with me."

 

 

"So what if I am flirting with you?"

 

 

Draco stopped. So what if he was? Sure, it was Potter, but... Merlin. He really needed to start interacting with people outside of Mother and this lunatic. He was getting desperate.

 

 

"I don't know."

 

 

"Are you even going to invite me inside?"

 

 

No, Potter definitely wasn't allowed to flirt with him. He was far too forward about it. It was impolite. Strange. Gross, even. Bloody Potter, thinking he blessed the ground he stood upon, thinking he deserved to be invited inside to Draco's house.

 

 

"I thought you came to sit on the step."

 

 

"Well, a cuppa would be nice."

 

 

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine. Come inside. I'll make you a cuppa."

 

 

Merlin, what was wrong with him? Not only was Draco an old bat and a liar, now he was being nice to Potter. Perhaps he should see a Healer, one of the Mind Healing variety. Thoughts aside, he stood up, brushing dust off his arse and opening the door for Potter.

 

 

"Here you go, Golden Boy."

 

 

Potter laughed, and it wasn't a bad sound. Loud, and from his chest. It was happier than Draco had heard anyone sound in a very long time. He smilesd, only a little, and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling wide enough that Potter would notice.

 

 

"Thanks, Malfoy."

 

 

"You're welcome. Now go inside, you're letting all the heat out."

 

 

Potter did go inside, and Draco followed him. He closed the door behind him as he toed off his shoes. "Take off your shoes. I don't want you tracking mud all over the bloody house."

 

 

"I'm not a bloody caveman, or whatever you think."

 

 

"Sure, Potter. Just take off your shoes."

 

 

Potter did. Draco was thankful. He would never have never admitted it, but they didn't have a house elf and floor sweeping had become his duty. He definitely didn't want to sweep later on.

 

 

Potter pretended to be surprised by the house, even though it probably looked just like his inside, save for the furniture.

 

 

"What is it? A bit less grand than you expected of the Malfoys?"

 

 

"Well, I guess. But that's not it. I expected it to be... darker."

 

 

"Mother and I were never truly fans of father's-" he pauses, unsure of which word to use. "-tastes. We prefer the house to be brighter. Hence the white."

 

 

"Oh. Okay." Potter seems awkward. Draco never would've pegged him for the awkward type.

 

 

"Do you want to sit?"

 

 

"Er... yeah. That'd be great."

 

 

Draco gestured to the kitchen table and then went to the kettle on the stove. It was always partially full of water, so he checked to make sure there was enough for two cups before he cast the boiling charm.

 

 

"How do you like your tea?" He asked, getting two cups out of the cupboard. He bustled around the kitchen, finding sugar cubes and teabags and milk, feeling rather like the old lady he was most definitely turning into. He made a mental note to check if he was developing wrinkles.

 

 

"Uh... just as is."

 

 

"Yuck. It's awfully bitter that way."

 

 

Potter shrugged. "That's how I drank it when I was smaller. I wasn't allowed sugar and milk, you see."

 

 

"Hyper?"

 

 

"No. I just wasn't allowed it. Aunt Petunia- well, never mind."

 

 

"Alright then."

 

 

Draco poured water over the teabags. He added copious amounts of milk and three sugar cubes before he brought the cups over to the table. He sat across from Potter.

 

 

They drank their tea in silence. Draco stared out the window (as he was wont to do) and Potter stared dumbly off into space (as he usually did.) Then Potter finished his tea and rinsed his own cup.

 

 

"I'd best be off, Malfoy. I think Ron and Hermione are coming over for dinner. Thanks for the cuppa. And the insults."

 

 

"You're welcome, Potty." Draco said. He only called him Potty because he was smiling, and the Chosen One was not allowed to smile and thank him for insults at the same time. It just wouldn't do.

 

 

"I'll see you, Ferret."

 

 

Draco's cheeks burned a bit at the name. "See you."

 

 

Then Potter slid his feet back into his trainers without unlacing them like the bloody caveman he was, and he left. Draco watched him go with a stupid smile on his face. Then he sat down.

 

 

He was in such deep shit.

 

 

**November 7, 1998**

 

 

It was only in November that Potter finally invited Draco over to his house. They were sitting in Draco's kitchen, eating chocolate-filled pastries that the mother weasel had baked for Harry. Draco supposed he should stop calling her the mother weasel when she was baking his favourite things for Harry to share with Draco, but old habits die hard.

 

 

"I'm having friends over for dinner tonight," Potter said, as if Draco cared.

 

 

"Okay."

 

 

"I was wondering if you'd like to come?"

 

 

"Why would I want to come socialise with your friends?" Draco scoffed. It was mostly fake.

 

 

"Because you're my friend too, you arse. It's just Ron and Hermione, and maybe Luna. Luna's rather fond of you, and-"

 

 

"Lovegood and I talked a bit during her, uh, stay at the manor. She's rather batty, but she's nice. Smart, in her own way."

 

 

"She is. Like I was saying. Hermione's open to talking. Ron's a bit, erm, apprehensive, but he's as stubborn as you are. He'll get used to it."

 

 

"I'm not stubborn."

 

 

"Yes you are." Potter was grinning

 

 

"I am not."

 

 

"This argument is an example."

 

 

Draco grumbled and shoved a pastry in his mouth. Potter was right, maybe, but he wasn't supposed to be.

 

 

"So, will you come?" Potter was looking at him half-pleadingly. It occurred to Draco that Potter might actually want him there. That maybe Potter really thought of Draco as a friend.

 

 

"If Lovegood does," Draco said. He half wanted to berate himself for falling victim to Potter's charms. Again.

 

 

"Okay. I'll Owl you when she lets me know."

 

 

"Or you could just get on your step stool and shout it over the wall."

 

 

Potter flushed bright red. Draco was truly relentless about the stool.

 

 

"Oh come off it, you're the one who's freakishly tall."

 

 

"Sure, Potty."

 

 

"Okay. Maybe I'm a little short. But it doesn't matter. I'm still getting more arse than you are."

 

 

Draco's mind stopped. _Was_ Potter getting arse? Who? It must be the stupid Weaslette. He'd been shagging her since fifth year, probably. Or at least, he'd been shagging her with his eyes. Would she be at Potter's house tonight? He'd have to go, then.

 

 

Draco stood up. "If I'm going to go to your stupid dinner, I need to get a shower. And since I'm not doing it with your perverted arse in the house, you'll have to leave."

 

 

"Dinner time is hours away, Malfoy."

 

 

He was right. It was three o'clock.

 

 

"Perfection takes time. Should I dress nicely, or wear something Muggle?"

 

 

"Whatever you want. I wouldn't suggest dress robes, though. We're having pizza."

 

 

"What on earth is 'Peetza?'" Draco asked. It must be Muggle, because the word might as well be in another language. Or from another planet.

 

 

"You'll see. Just don't dress too nicely, alright? I'll see you tonight."

 

 

"Bye, Potter."

 

 

"Bye, Malfoy."

 

 

Potter left. Draco realised he hadn't even taken his shoes off when he entered. Bloody caveman.

 

 

**6 o'clock, the same day**

 

 

Dinner time came far too quickly for Draco's liking, and he was a bundle of nerves as he walked the ten feet down the sidewalk from his house to Potter's. He was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, which made him feel terribly naked. He wished he'd worn robes, or at least something with long sleeves.

 

 

It was just dinner at Potty's house, with a couple of his friends, and possibly the girl he was shagging. It was nothing to worry about. He knocked on Potter's front door, standing awkwardly on the doorstep.

 

 

Potter opened the door, a bottle of pumpkin juice in hand. He looked Draco up and down, either shocked by his attire, or by the fact that he had showed up at all.

 

 

"Malfoy. You came."

 

 

"You asked me to," he said, pretending to be appalled by Potter's lack of faith in him when he honestly didn't have any faith in himself either.

 

 

"I know. I know. I just didn't expect- well, never mind. Come in. Ron and Hermione just got here, and Luna'll be here any minute. Do you want a drink?"

 

 

"No thanks."

 

 

"Alright. Take off your shoes when you come in, yeah?" Potter grinned at him. Draco bit his cheek and forced himself to not grin back.

 

 

He stepped inside Potter's house and slipped off his shoes, which were canvas trainers that hadn't been worn enough to be comfortable. He looked around at the house, which was surprisingly neat and well decorated for being solely inhabited by Potter. Every wall was hung with at least one framed picture: a painting of a couple that could only be James and Lily Potter, who waved at him. A photograph of Potter and his friends, looking much smaller and younger than they did now.

 

 

Potter led him through the house, Draco's eyes followed the endless collections of photos. Potter didn't seem to notice his fascination, or he didn't care, because he said nothing of it. From the living room he heard laughter and talking.

 

 

"Malfoy's here!" Potter said when they reached the doorway. The laughing went silent. Weasley looked at Draco over Potter's shoulder, eyes narrowing.

 

 

Granger was the one to break the silence. "Well, don't just stand there, you two. Ron's been complaining that he's starving, and I could do with a bite to eat." She smiled kindly, even if it looked a bit forced.

 

 

"We're still waiting on Luna," Potter said to Weasley and Granger, then, to Draco; "sit wherever you want."

 

 

Potter took his spot beside Weasley on the couch. Draco sat in the chair across from them, legs crossed stiffly and hands folded on his lap. He could feel everybody's eyes on him. Weasley's in particular were trained on his Dark Mark. He pressed his hands to his legs to stop their nervous bouncing. He was regretting even showing up.

 

 

"Malfoy?" Potter said. Draco's head shot up. "Do you want a drink?"

 

 

"Uh, that'd be great. Yeah."

 

 

"I'll show you where they are." He looked Draco in the eyes pointedly. An _I'll get you out of here for a minute_ look.

 

 

He stood up, and so did Draco. They walked into the kitchen, Draco clenching his hands at his sides.

 

 

Once they were clear of Weasley and Granger's vision, Potter turned to face Draco.

 

 

"Are you okay?"

 

 

"No," Draco said honestly. His hands were shaking and he felt as though he might cry. He shouldn't have come here.

 

 

"Do you want to stay out here for a minute?"

 

 

Draco nodded. He sniffed and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

 

 

And then Potter's arms were around him. It was a hug. A nice one, at that. Potter was at least a head shorter than Draco, but his shoulders were broad and his embrace was firm and comforting.

 

 

Draco let his face rest against Potter's mess of curls, closing his eyes and breathing in the familiar scent of him. They stayed like that for a while, Draco taking deep breaths to soothe his frayed nerves, holding Potter a little closer and a little tighter than was necessary.

 

 

"Malfoy?" Potter said after a few minutes, and Draco could feel the words against his skin.

 

 

"Yeah?"

 

 

"Do you want me to walk you home?"

 

 

Draco wanted to stay, for Potter's sake. But he was shaky and exhausted and he wanted to go to bed.

 

 

"Please."

 

 

"I'll just let Ron and Hermione know that I'm going. Wait here."

 

 

Potter let him go, hands lingering on Draco's waist longer than needed before he brought them to his sides. Draco could still feel the tingling where Potter's hands had been, or maybe that was the aftermath of the almost-panic attack, but he was okay. Draco heard Potter's quiet explanation to Ron and Hermione before he came back into the kitchen.

 

 

"Alright. Let's get you home. You're not dizzy, right?"

 

 

Draco shook his head. He wasn't.

 

 

They left together, and Potter stood with him on the step. It was already growing dark out, but Mother probably wouldn't be home yet. Potter looked nice in the moonlight, looking up at Draco.

 

 

"I'll leave my window open tonight. So you can owl if you need to."

 

 

"Why would I owl you in the middle of the night?"

 

 

"When I have panic attacks I usually have nightmares after. I figure you might need to talk. You can always Floo over if you don't want to owl."

 

 

"Oh. Thank you."

 

 

"I feel like this is the part where I'm supposed to kiss you goodnight."

 

 

Draco blanked. Potter wanted to kiss him. Harry Potter wanted to kiss him. Here, on his porch like in a romance novel, Potter looking gorgeous under the moon and smiling in a half-sheepish way that set Draco's heart aflutter.

 

 

"Yes, but no. Not yet," he finally answered, after what felt like a lifetime.

 

 

"Okay." Potter looked a little disappointed. Or maybe Draco had imagined it. He was desperate, after all.

 

 

"Tell Luna I'm sorry I couldn't be there."

 

 

"I will. Goodnight, Ferret."

 

 

"Goodnight, Potty."

 

 

Draco let himself smile, and Potter smiled back. Then he watched him walk back next door before he slipped back inside the house.

 

 

**November 30, 1998**

 

 

Winter was biting at the air in Upper Flagley, three weeks before it was due. It seemed to creep in momentarily before slipping away, bringing flurries of snow and frigid wind before fall reigned again and the air turned somewhat mild for a few days. Draco spent most of these days inside, at home or at Potter's house, drinking hot tea to keep the chill out of his bones.

 

 

He hadn't been over to Potter's when Granger and Weasley were there since, which was probably for the best. The thought of it made his chest feel tight with fear. Draco didn't leave Upper Flagley much, if at all. He mostly bounced back and forth between Potter's house and his own, occasionally going out with Mother for dinner or to shop for something to read.

 

 

Draco was sitting on Potter's couch right now, head on his shoulder as they watched the telly. It had occurred to Draco that maybe this position was a little more than friendly, but Draco also got the idea that him and Potter were far past friendly as well. The film was just getting exciting when Potter pressed pause and the little people running around behind the screen stopped. That always amazed him; the people could stop whenever they wanted, seamlessly. It was quite obviously magic, although Potter told him that everyone on the telly was Muggle. Draco would admit that Potter wasn't as dull as he'd originally thought, but he clearly didn't know much when it came to this.

 

 

"It was just getting good, you twat." Draco flicked Potter's knee, but he was smiling.

 

 

"I have something to ask you." He sounded nervous. Draco took that as a bad sign. Potter never got nervous.

 

 

"Well, don't just sit there like a nervous lump. Ask me."

 

 

Harry nodded, once, a tight movement.

 

 

Draco looked at him and waited.

 

 

"I... I want to go on a date with you," Potter said, looking at his hands.

 

 

"Will Weasley and Granger be there?"

 

 

"No. No, Draco. A _date._ Just you and me."

 

 

"I know what I date is. I just wasn't sure that you did."

 

 

"Oh. I do. So will you?"

 

 

"I suppose."

 

 

Potter fell silent again, and Draco could see him biting back his grin. Did Draco look like that when he tried not to smile?

 

 

"Potter, just bloody smile. You look constipated."

 

 

Harry laughed, loudly, that laugh that Draco liked and made his chest fell full to bursting. Draco smiled at him. Merlin, Harry Potter was going to be the death of him.

 

 

**December 4, 1998**

 

 

"So, we're going to watch the telly, but... on a bigger screen," Draco clarified, squinting at Potter. What was the point of that?

 

 

"Yes. We're going to the cinema. It's a standard first date for fifteen year olds."

 

 

"In case you've forgotten, we're not fifteen."

 

 

"Are you sure, Ferret?"

 

 

"I'm always sure, Potty."

 

 

Potter grinned at him. "Most people don't kiss on the train before the first date."

 

 

"Are you saying that you want to kiss me?" Draco pretended this wasn't terribly exciting.

 

 

"Maybe."

 

 

"This entire relationship is built on maybes."

 

 

"Is this a relationship?" Potter had those innocent eyes and that soft voice again, and Draco melted a little. He was such a prat.

 

 

"Well, I'd think so."

 

 

"So... you're my boyfriend?"

 

 

"I would be, if you'd ask me properly."

 

 

"Do you want me to get down on one knee?"

 

 

Draco rolled his eyes. "That'd be extravagant, but you're welcome to. Just asking would do."

 

 

"Alright, Malfoy. Draco. Would you like to be my boyfriend?"

 

 

Draco pretended to consider. He looked at Potter, who was making puppy dog eyes in an entirely unironic manner. He had rather nice eyes, bright, clear green against his dark skin. Too nice. Draco had to toy with him.

 

 

"No."

 

 

Potter's smile dropped. "What?"

 

 

"I'm joking. I'm joking. Don't pout. Yes, I'll be your boyfriend, Potty."

 

 

"You're such a prick."

 

 

"I know. But you love me."

 

 

"I know."

 

 

Draco let his thigh press against Potter's, and he let it stay there until the train stopped.

 

 

**December 20, 1998**

 

 

With Christmas drawing closer, Draco saw Potter less and less. Weasley and Granger were constantly at his house, or Harry was out with them. Draco had taken to window watching again.

 

 

Tonight Potter was out, but he'd left his kitchen light on. Draco sat in his bedroom window, watching the stray cat who pranced around the yard waiting for Potter's return. She rubbed against the corner of the house or the stairs occasionally, marking her scent. Draco didn't blame her; it probably reeked of Weasel. He absentmindedly traced a line through the condensation his breath had made on the glass pane. Then he rubbed it all away.

 

 

The creaking of his bedroom door's hinges finally tore Draco away from the street below. He turned around.

 

 

"Mother, I- oh. Potter."

 

 

And it was. Potter was standing in the doorway. He grinned, that stupid smile that Draco loved.

 

 

"Hi," Potter said, still grinning like a fool.

 

 

"How did you get here?"

 

 

"Your mother let me in. She's much quicker at it then you are. And she offered me tea without me asking. I said no, though."

 

 

"No, I mean, how did you get here without me seeing? I've been sitting in the window for an hour," Draco said, slightly astonished that he'd missed him walking by. He'd become excellent at noticing things like Potter coming over to ambush him.

 

 

"You're staring at my house, you git. I waved and you didn't see me."

 

 

"You left your kitchen light on."

 

 

"I know."

 

 

"You left it on purposely?"

 

 

"No. But I know I left it on. Move over."

 

 

Draco shifted over so his shoulder pressed against the window frame, and Potter sat next to him. They were squished, but Draco wasn't sure he really minded it.

 

 

"I want to hold your hand," Potter said.

 

 

"You don't have to ask."

 

 

"Okay."

 

 

Potter reached for Draco's hand and intertwined their fingers.

 

 

"Will I get to kiss you soon?"

 

 

"Maybe," Draco said. _Yes,_ Draco thought.

 

 

**December 25, 1998**

 

 

_Draco,_

 

 

_Happy Christmas! I'm at the Burrow until after dinner, but maybe I'll see you tonight? I have a gift for you._

 

 

_Yours,_  
_Harry._

 

 

_Potter,_

 

 

_Happy Christmas. I'll see you tonight. I have a gift for you, too. Your house or mine?_

 

 

_Sincerely,_  
_D.M._

 

 

_Draco,_

 

 

_Mine. We don't want to bother your Mother. See you at 8.00_

 

 

_Love,_  
_Harry_

 

 

_Harry,_

 

 

_Okay. See you at 8.00. I'll be waiting._

 

 

_Love (but don't hold me to it),_  
_Draco_

 

 

8 o'clock came and Draco knocked on Potter's front door. The lights in the living room and kitchen were on, and Draco watched through the window as Potter made his way to the porch. He opened the door.

 

 

"Draco. Happy Christmas." He smiled as he said it.

 

 

"Happy Christmas." Draco stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He toed off his shoes (because he was not a caveman) and hung his coat on the coat stand.

 

 

"Come sit. I have Firewhiskey."

 

 

"You always have Firewhiskey."

 

 

"I know."

 

 

Potter took his hand and led Draco to the living room. His callused palms scratched at Draco's soft ones.

 

 

"Sit. I'll get our drinks," he murmured. He often did that when it was just the two of them, and Draco delighted in those moments.

 

 

Draco sat on the couch, crossing his legs and looking toward the kitchen door. He could hear Potter bustling around the kitchen, humming to himself. He heard the clinking of glass bottles and Potter came back into the living room.

 

 

"I brought all of my Firewhiskey to The Burrow, apparently... so- pumpkin juice. With vodka. Do you drink vodka? I hope so."

 

 

"Potter, everyone drinks vodka."

 

 

"True."

 

 

Potter sat down beside Draco, handing him the bottle. He stared at Draco for a while before he spoke again.

 

 

"We should probably make a toast."

 

 

"That's for New Years, not Christmas."

 

 

"It could be for Christmas."

 

 

"Alright. What are we toasting to?"

 

 

"Us."

 

 

"Sounds sappy. Or New Years like."

 

 

"It is. And it is." Potter paused, holding up his bottle. "To us?"

 

 

"To us," Draco said, and they clinked their bottles and drank.

 

 

It was approaching midnight before Draco remembered his gift. He looked at Harry, who was contently snuggled up to him, eyes closed and his second bottle of pumpkin juice in hand. He was smiling, and his thigh was pressed to Draco's and his hair was a mess and all Draco could think was _Merlin, what did I do to deserve this?_

 

 

"Potter," Draco said softly, in case he was sleeping.

 

 

"Yeah?" He wasn't.

 

 

"We have to give our gifts now or it won't be Christmas."

 

 

"Oh, yeah."

 

 

Harry got up off the couch, and Draco missed the warmth of him. He disappeared into the kitchen again and came back with a neatly packaged gift, covered in tacky Muggle Christmas paper.

 

 

Draco reached into his pocket and unshrunk Harry's gift, which was wrapped even more neatly in non-tacky paper, because Draco had taste and didn't wrap things in Santa Claus paper for people who did not believe in Santa Claus.

 

 

"It's not much, but I hope you like it." Harry said, sitting beside Draco again, although not as close as he had been before.

 

 

He handed Draco the package. Draco carefully peeled up the tape on the edge and slid the object out. It was a book. Specifically, _Overcoming Your Hawk-Like Tendencies_ by Gertrude Wallace.

 

 

"I thought it would help you to stop watching people from the bloody window," Harry said, grinning.

 

 

And it was all too much- the stupid gift, the stupid grin, the proximity of Potter's body to his -Draco kissed him. Potter kissed back like a wildfire, like Incendio, like ashes on Draco's lips, like Firewhiskey. He was warm and all-consuming and intoxicating, and Draco wondered how much vodka Potter had put in his drink.

 

 

"Draco," Potter said when he pulled away. He let their foreheads touch and reached for Draco's hand and looked at Draco with those stupid green eyes.

 

 

And Merlin, Draco was in deep, but he didn't want to think about it, so he kissed him again.

 

 

**December 31, 1998**

 

 

Draco couldn't remember why he'd agreed to this.

 

 

He figured he looked a little frightening, standing at the edge of the Weasleys' yard in his black cloak. It was cold out, so much so that his fingers were beginning to lose feeling even through his gloves, but Harry was late (as always) and there was no way that he was going into the bloody lion's den without him.

 

 

The Burrow was tall and narrow and rickety looking, the entire building leaning slightly to the left. The lights were on everywhere but the top two floors, including out on the front step. It seemed to have a merry glow to it, and Draco could hear the laughter and chatter from inside. It was terrifying.

 

 

There was a loud crack and Draco whirled around to see Harry standing on the opposite side of the lawn, tucking his wand into his pocket and looking around the yard.

 

 

"Draco," Potter said when he saw him, crossing the grass to stand at his side. "It's freezing out here. Why didn't you go inside?"

 

 

"Couldn't go in alone," Draco said stiffly. He shoved his gloved hands in his pockets and looked at his toes.

 

 

"Okay. Are you ready to go in?"

 

 

"Absolutely not. But I'm cold. So let's go."

 

 

Potter put an arm around Draco and squeezed his side. "We don't have to stay long. The second you want to go, we can go."

 

 

"Okay." Draco took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. "Let's go in, then."

 

 

He let one hand leave his pocket to grip Potter's robes until his knuckles must've surely been white. Potter brought him to the door and opened it without knocking, like he was coming home. It smacked against a few pairs of mucky old wellingtons and a rusty bucket.

 

 

Molly bustled over to the door. She was a rather heavyset witch, with a round face and pink cheeks.

 

 

"Harry, love. You've brought your mystery man, finally." She looked over at Draco, smiling. There wasn't a single glimmer of remorse or maliciousness on her face.

 

 

She hugged Harry first. He hugged her back and kissed her cheek. Then she let him go and folded her hands in front of her.

 

 

"Draco Malfoy. A surprise." There was a bitter edge to her smile, not anger, but something more sad. Draco felt a pang of guilt. His father's affiliations- possibly even his family -had killed her son.

 

 

When Draco didn't respond, she spoke again. "We were all betting on that McLaggen boy, except Ron and Hermione. It makes sense in hindsight. He was a bit full of himself, really."

 

 

Potter snorted. "More than a bit." He wrapped both arms around Draco let his chin rest on his shoulder.

 

 

Molly smiled at Harry; although she wouldn't meet Draco's eyes. "I've got to go back to the kitchen. Charlie's trying to cook something, and truth be told, I don't trust him."

 

 

She glanced at Draco once more before leaving the front porch to go back to the kitchen.

 

 

"She doesn't like me," Draco said plainly.

 

 

"She doesn't not like you. Give her time. She'll warm up to you eventually- she always does." Harry kissed Draco on the side of his neck, just below his jaw.

 

 

"Come inside. I've met most of your family. You ought to meet mine, yeah?"

 

 

Harry let go of Draco's waist in favour of grasping his hand, leading him into the living room. It fell silent in pieces, starting with one cluster of red-haired spawn and then the next, until everybody was staring at the doorway. Draco gripped Harry's hand tighter.

 

 

It was the girl, Ginny, who broke the silence first. She was sharing a chair with Lovegood, who was wearing a peculiar set of goggles. One of the older Weasels, the one with the scarred face, sat across from them. A deck of Exploding Snap cards sat on the table between them.

 

 

"Harry. Malfoy. Come join our game; we could use more players." She picked up the cards and shuffled them in her hands, making a strange sort of eye contact with Harry that seemed to relay a message.

 

 

"Do you want to?"

 

 

"Not particularly. But we can."

 

 

"I'm going to take that as a yes."

 

 

They sat on rickety kitchen chairs , dodging the lamp that had most likely been previously situated on the table they were gathered around. Ginny dealt cards, grinning competitively at her brother and sneaking quick peeks at Draco.

 

 

"Where's Theo?" Harry asked as he looked at his hand, trying to remain nonchalant even though he obviously had good cards.

 

 

"He didn't want to come. Too many Gryffindors, I guess." Ginny was trying not to look at Draco, but her quick glances were becoming less and less inconspicuous.

 

 

Draco snorted. "Told you," he said, nudging Harry's knee with his own.

 

 

"Did not," said Harry, who truly became more and more like a petulant child each day. (He claimed Draco was rubbing off on him. He was lying, obviously.)

 

 

"Stop it," said Ginny, who seemed already fed up with their banter. Draco wondered if she was jealous, or perhaps she just heard enough of it from her siblings and their significant others.

 

 

"Fine." Harry spoke to Ginny like she was his younger sister. Draco tried not to laugh. Instead, he let his head fall to rest on Potter's shoulder so he could get a view of his cards. They weren't even decent. He tried even harder not to laugh.

 

 

The game went on like any other game of Exploding Snap; Draco lost, it got rubbed in his face, someone got jinxed, and then he walked away. It felt like being in the Slytherin common room again, minus a certain Parkinson and with the addition of a few dozen red heads.

 

 

There was so much laughter, so much happiness here- he understood why Harry loved it so much. Weasley (Ronald) was civil and Granger made polite conversation and the girl Weasel was smart and just a bit snarky. Mrs. Weasley was kind and welcoming even if her smile was tight.

 

 

It was nearing midnight when Harry asked Draco to go outside. They held hands and stood on the back step with Firewhiskey, looking up at the dark sky.

 

 

"It's nearly 1999. Wow," Harry said, smiling up at nothing in particular.

 

 

"Yeah."

 

 

"Didn't think I'd live to see it."

 

 

"Neither did I."

 

 

"But we did."

 

 

"We did."

 

 

"I'm glad."

 

 

"Me too."

 

 

There was loud shouting indoors. _Ten... nine... eight... seven.... six... five..._

 

 

"Kiss me," Harry whispered.

 

 

_Three... two..._

 

 

**January 1, 1999**

 

 

_One._ They kissed.

 


End file.
